


Vermin

by TrashMetal



Category: Silent Hill
Genre: Angst, Gen, Homer the homeless dude that is, I suppose?, appreciating an unappreciated character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 08:52:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashMetal/pseuds/TrashMetal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prisoner would be the one to set him free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vermin

**Author's Note:**

> Another Silent Hill-fic. Since I have a knack for starting to take an interest in characters that have no canon character development, I decided to explore Homer's background a bit more. Homer was the homeless man you met in the subway tunnels in "Silent Hill: Downpour". I just found that whole sidequest and the way it ended ( http://silenthill.wikia.com/wiki/Homer ) pretty haunting (even for a Silent Hill-game). Because he's a really minor character it's not like he has an official backstory or anything, which is why I tried to write this based on my own theories about Homer's life, demise and his own personal experience in Silent Hill.

It had started raining again. In fact, it had been pouring down more or less ever since he got here, whenever that was.  
He had no memory of ever coming to this town, but yet, here he was, without food, warmth, shelter or company. Hell, he could even say that he missed his old drinking-buddies over in Brahms.  
 _That's right_... Brahms... That's where he had been living before he got here, and before he'd gotten thrown into jail over that stupid little incident. He couldn't for the life of him remember what took him over here, though, nor how much time had passed since then. Time seemed to almost stand still in this place.

He had vague memories of trying to get out of town when he had just gotten here, his search coming to a disappointing halt when he found all the roads out of town completely cut off, as if the earth had simply shattered all around them, this place being the only place on earth that was spared from God's wrath. Beyond the gaping holes that he supposed separated him from the nearest highway, there was nothing. All was consumed by the thick fog; the fog that never seemed to ease off. The fog that, together with the constant downpour and deathly silence, created a cloying thickness that almost felt as if it could physically suffocate him, had it been possible.  
But then again, who was he to say if something was impossible? Anything seemed possible here, for some strange reason that he was not yet able to explain.

He had soon given up on trying to find a way out of town and settled himself in the subway tunnels beneath it. Walking through the empty _(oh so empty)_ streets looking for branches he could use to make some sort of fire, his own footsteps was all he heard, save for the pattering of raindrops against the cold, unrelenting asphalt beneath him.

At first, he had been panicked, desperate to get out of the town. Horror and utter despair that he had never felt before had gripped their bony fingers at his heart, leaving him unable to sleep at night. The strange thing was; he didn't know why he had been so afraid. The town in which he was trapped was actually very peaceful. After all, there was nobody there but himself. If anything, this town would be the ideal place to come to if you just needed some peace of mind. At least by the looks of it. He had grown increasingly wary around other people through years of addiction and alienation; he had longed for the moment when he would finally be on his own, with no one there to bother him- judge him, except for the trusty old bottle. So why did his mere being in this town cause him to be overcome by such an awful dread? He had finally gotten what he wished for; to be alone, so why was he afraid?

As he stood by the fire he had made, the only movements being his hands occasionally rubbing themselves together in order to keep warm, he thought on this, as he had done many a day before. Maybe, just maybe, his proud subconscious would some time accept the imminent truth of his situation; that he would receive no answers. It didn't matter how much he thought about the factors that could've brought him here. Nothing of that was of any relevance now, anyway. It was too late. Too late for him.   
Staying here, in the winding, dark and deserted tunnels underneath this empty town, had, perhaps, given him the time he needed to think things out. Come to an acceptance that he was a lost man. That he was here for a reason, even if he still wasn't sure exactly what that reason was. He knew this was the case, deep down inside, but his ego had still to be able to accept it. It would take some time, he knew. Just like he had refused to accept that he had a drinking problem and that it caused him to get into trouble, he now refused to accept his unknown but inevitable fate that somehow was so much worse than dying from alcohol poisoning in a piss-stained street corner.

The soft pattering that the raindrops produced on the ground above him hadn't ceased for days now. Days? Years? Just mere _minutes_? If he had had any sense of time left within him at all, it was gone by now. He found that it actually didn't bother him too much anymore. Regardless of how much time he had spent in this place, he had grown accustomed to this way of living; little by little. Sure, there wasn't much to eat, hardly anything to drink and pretty much all the potential firewood he had found had been drenched by the constant rain, but he felt like it almost wasn't necessary anymore. He hadn't been hungry in what felt like forever, nor had he been thirsty. Not for water, not even for alcohol. Was there something wrong with him? No doubt about it, but something, his body, told him that it didn't matter anymore. So he just let it go. It's funny really; if he had known letting all those worries and thoughts go would feel so nice, he would've done it much sooner. Maybe even before he came here. The only thing still bothering him though, was the cold. He was standing right by the fire he had made in some dirty old barrel just by the subway entrance, where no gusts of wind, rain drops, or oppressive fog could get to him. He should've been warm and comfortable, but he was not. The cold was creeping at him from all angles, he had tried to find clothing items that served a better purpose than his thin, ragged coat, but no matter how many jackets, warm- albeit moth infested- coats or wool caps he had found, none of them did the trick. He was always cold. Sometimes a little less, maybe, but always, _always_ cold. It gnawed at his fingers as he stood there, rubbing his hands together like a greedy little fly, practically shoving his hands directly into the raging flames if just to get a little more warmth.

It was then that he seemed to have distinguished another noise above all those raindrops falling. Through his time being here, having nothing to listen to all day except for silence, rain and his own mumbling to himself, his ears had been trained. This new sound wasn't like anything he had ever heard before. Maybe, he thought, he had heard it before in some other life, in some other plane of existence? It might be possible, but now was not the time to ponder over such things. He perked his ears and listened; listened to see in which way this new sound was headed.  
As he heard the noise slowly, almost carefully come down the stone steps of his subway entrance, he was forced to think of another possibility; would he dare to turn around and face this new presence, should it decide to keep going down the steps until they would be forced to confront one another? He thought about it for what, to him, seemed like an eternity, much like everything else in this town, and found that he wasn't afraid of the new presence coming down to greet him. He wasn't afraid and maybe it was just a lack of survival instinct and maybe the town had somehow warped his mind inside and out but the truth was still crystal clear; he was not afraid. It felt nice.

The noise was now behind him, up another flight of stone steps and he could recognize it now; it was the sound of footsteps. Low, but still heavy thuds. Sounds of inhalation of air as well. Surely, he must've gone insane? Had he spent all this time in the town, thinking he was alone when really, he was not? Relief and the feeling of being mocked flooded over him all at once.  
He didn't turn around, even when he heard the footsteps reluctantly draw closer to him until they were almost right behind him, but still keeping their distance.  
Before the other person could say anything, he heard himself do it.

"Damn rain never lets up, does it?"

He didn't remember his voice sounding so hoarse. He sounded almost like a crow and it would've made him uneasy if it wasn't for the fact that he didn't really care anymore. All he cared about was keeping warm, dry and... maybe get a little something to eat before it all went down.  
The new presence turned out to be a man. A rugged looking one at that, who almost reminded him a little of himself in his younger days. He was in a prison uniform, but he didn't recognize it from where he had been incarcerated all those years before. But it didn't matter if this man was a prisoner; once you were here in this town, you were all equal to one another, because whatever put you here, didn't discriminate.

The prisoner didn't look as touched by the cold as he himself was, but rather, touched by something else. You could see it in his eyes; something dark, something tormenting him inside. He was drenched by the rain, but he didn't shiver. The prisoner stood fast, looking directly at him, probably surprised as well as relieved that he wasn't alone in the town either.  
Still with his hands hovering over the fire, he spoke to the prisoner again. They made a deal; that if the prisoner brought him something to eat, a fishing rod and a warm coat, he would in turn show the prisoner all the secret tunnels and crevices beneath the town. The tunnels that he had gotten to know like the back of his hand could sometimes spell your doom if you weren't careful enough while searching through them.  
The prisoner was a man of few words, he noticed, but he still took up on the offer he had presented him with. He heard the man leave up the steps of his subway entrance, hopefully taking care of their deal right away. He was in no rush, but he still felt as if he didn't have much time to waste. It was almost too bad that things were coming to an end once something new actually happened. _Almost_. He didn't really have any need for his first two requests; a bit to eat and a fishing rod, but still, he wanted to have them, just in case. The only thing that really mattered was the warm coat. He hoped the prisoner managed to find one that was especially warm, too, because he was going to need it, regardless of where he was staying or going.

His body felt lighter than ever before and when the prisoner came back, offering him a candy bar to eat, he was smiling. Not so much because of the prisoner being helpful, but mostly because he could feel the strain being lifted from his body, little by little. Only a little bit longer now, and maybe he would find peace from this terrible cold that was starting to consume his whole being.  
Putting the candy bar in his pocket, he drew a map of the subway tunnels, but not all of them. No, the prisoner would have to bring him the other things if he wanted to know the rest of the short-cuts through town, and he knew the prisoner would deliver.

"You just gotta think like a rat, see?", he heard himself say, "A rat's vermin, but he knows how to survive, how to... stay out of the rain."

His mouth was dry and his hands were oh so cold despite almost being engulfed by the fire; he really, really needed that coat.

"You think like a rat, kid, and you'll be fine, just like ol' Homer."

That's right... That was his name. Funny how you could even forget such a thing. The fog must've gotten into his brain somehow, clouding it up in there. It was the only explanation that made any sense in this twisted, alternate reality. He had tried so hard to stay out of the fog and rain, but they had still found him. They would always find you eventually, and seep slowly into your every core, until you're freezing from the inside and out, memories you never knew you had slipping out of your mind until only the basic survival instincts are left. It's not long, however, before they leave you as well.

Once again, he heard the prisoner's footsteps putting more and more distance between them and he found himself almost desperate for him to be back sooner. Each extra minute it took, the cold seized him once again, trying to claim his body and soul even more than before. The prisoner would be his savior out of this hell, this constant torment. He was lucky the kid had come around at the right time. Perhaps it was a sign, an act of fate? But soon, all this wouldn't matter anymore. All the faults would be forgotten, and he would finally be warm and light, just as he imagined life for a fetus in its mother's womb would feel like.   
It wouldn't be long now.


End file.
